


The Thief's Song

by xScatteredMemoriesx



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Coming of Age, Gen, Hurt, Obsession, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:54:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27618680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xScatteredMemoriesx/pseuds/xScatteredMemoriesx
Summary: Truth will out. That is how the saying goes. When Albus Dumbledore agrees to raise the child of his once close friend in secret, he knows the path will not be smooth. Yet when the time comes for her to leave the safety of Hogwarts, he notices a change. Befriending the likes of Bellatrix Black, for one. Perhaps his daughter is hiding another secret or two? More specifically a growing interest in a certain Dark Lord. How deep does this rabbit hole of obsession go, and will Dumbledore be able to get her out before it's too late? (Set just before the first war)
Relationships: Tom Riddle | Voldemort/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4
Collections: Bellatrix/Voldemort Malfoy Manor, Harry Potter





	1. Prologue

**~ The Thief's Song ~**

_Prologue_

The fog was thick for the time of year, Albus Dumbledore found himself realising, as he stared absently out over the high cliff edge. He could hear the ocean crashing furiously below against the rocks, but he paid them little attention. No, what held him now was the small rundown cottage in front of him. A light glowed from a small window, telling him that the person who had invited him was home.

Albus straightened his robes, and gathering all of his gall, he steered himself determinedly forward, certain that it wouldn't be the only time that night he would be forced to do so.

The front door creaked opened before he could knock, a pretty young woman framed perfectly in it's wake.

“You'd better come in.” She said, her French accent thick despite her excellent grasp of English.

Albus nodded, and though he sensed that there was no threat, brushed his fingers lightly across his wrist, instinctively empowered by the feel of the Elder Wand he had tucked away beneath his sleeve.

Albus Dumbledore followed the woman into a small living area. It was more homely than he had expected. Quaint paintings adorned the walls, and rich colours and furnishings accented the room, giving the place a welcoming feel despite the damp stone.

His gaze did not roam the room for long, his attention quickly captured by the sound of girlish giggles playing happily by the fire.

“Beautiful, is she not?” The woman appeared at his side, her eyes shinning sadly. “ _Mon cher..._ ”

Dumbledore smiled, watching as the little girl played with the dancing flames. She saw no danger in the fire, only joy, her magic protecting her from any harm it might have caused.

“Very talented.” Albus noted softly, the child eagerly drawing shapes in the embers.

The woman nodded. “Like her father.”

And there it was, Albus realised, the invitation to question. When he had received her letter in the post, he could not deny he was surprised. He had not expected his past to catch up with him again so suddenly. As for the child, she was a very complicated extra.

When Albus said nothing, the woman pressed on.

“He speaks about you often. I believe he still thinks very highly of you, despite everything.”

Despite himself, Albus chuckled. “Yes, I'm sure. Even though I am the one who caged him?”

She smiled, not unkindly. “Nurmengard is very beautiful.”

It did not soothe Albus' strangely placed guilt. “A golden cage, is still a cage.”

The woman shrugged, moving to sit with her little girl in front of the hearth. “That is what my Mother said.”

“Vinda Rosier?”

She nodded. “When she was imprisoned in Azkaban, she made me promise that I would visit him. She said he would drive himself mad, if he went without company for too long. I think she loved him.”

Albus knew that feeling all too well. “Gellert has a way of drawing people in. His followers especially.”

Again the woman nodded. “I know that myself all too well, _Monsieur._ All too well.” Her hand ghosted over her daughter's cheeks, fingertips passing lovingly through soft curls. “He has only met her once, when she was a newborn. He has said that she will do great things.” Her eyes misted over then, her composure breaking suddenly, as streams of silent tears drew deathly scars across her face.

The child looked up then, her little features suddenly very serious as she pressed her chubby palms to her mother's grief stricken cheeks. “ _Non, Mama, non!”_ She cried, kissing where her fingers had pressed.

“It is fine, Ari. _Je suis d'accord_ , _mon cher._ ” The woman assured her, pressing her lips lightly to her wrists.

But Albus felt his blood run cold. “Ari?” He repeated, finding the old name painful on his tongue.

“ _Oui._ ” She smiled, oblivious as she gently kissed the little girl's temple. “It is short for Ariana. Her father named her. He said the scales would finally be balanced... I do not know what he meant by it.”

But Albus did. He knew all too well, and the pain of remembering was only too fresh. He had lost not only a sister that day, but a brother too. Aberforth did not care which of them had dealt the killing blow, as far as he was concerned, it had been Albus who had invited the evil into their home, therefore it was Albus who had murdered her.

Ariana, his own flesh and blood.

“You will take her.”

Albus snapped himself out of his thoughts, his memories. He looked at her, not confused, but like a person who could finally see the pieces of the puzzle coming together.

So this was why he was here.

“Is this what he has asked of you?” He said, his voice gentle despite the dread he felt.

“This is what he has asked of _you_.” She threw back at him, suddenly holding little Ariana very tight. “You see how we live.” She gestured to the breaking cottage around them. “She will have no life in the world if she stays with me. They will find out who her father is, and they will hate her, or worse still she is found by who remains of his followers.”

“You do not share his and your Mother's ideology?”

She shook her head. “I have seen what hatred does to people, Professor. I haven't the stomach for such things.”

Albus nodded, his mind whirring with ideas. “I could hide you? Find you new lives where you would be safe.”

The woman laughed, but it was a hollow thing, draped in sadness. “I fear your efforts would not be for much. He worried my conviction would wane...”

She raised her wrist in front of her, and upon it golden lines glowed, vein-like bindings Albus knew only too well.

“An unbreakable vow...” He noted, bending low to examine it further. He caught her eye. “And the requirements?”

“I am to give you Ariana, and end my life.” She smiled darkly. “So you see, he has thought of everything, and I die regardless.”

Albus felt a familiar tightening in his throat, the same feeling he felt whenever he was reminded of his old friend's true insidious nature. Gellert had known Albus wouldn't simply take the child, but he would force her upon him if he could, manipulating him as he had always done.

Old friend, indeed.

The woman cleared her throat. “I know you could just as easily find another home for her... but please, I believe she will be safest with you. No one can know who she is, Professor, you see? No one. Please? Please take her?”

Albus Dumbledore regarded her quietly, the cogs of his brain whirring to future eventualities, trying to discover the path to one that was safest. He sighed heavily, unwilling to except another burden onto his shoulders, and yet toying with the idea of repaying some penance. He had not been the brother he should have been to his Ariana, perhaps he could play father to the little one now asleep in her mother's arms?

He sighed. He was becoming far too sentimental in his old age.

“I will not allow her to forget you, you have my word.”

The woman smiled. “That is all that I ask.”

**R &R!**

**Okay so this is just a little idea that I'm working on – if you like it, then please let me know, and I will continue on. Hope you're all well? Reviews are welcome in all shapes and sizes, so please spare two seconds if you can?**

**Take care xx**


	2. After The Interview

**~ The Thief's Song ~**

_After The Interview_

**Hogwarts, November 1967**

Placing the diadem down with care upon the shelf, Lord Voldemort took a step back and smiled. No one would find it here, not in this room, he was certain. He was one of very few people that knew of The Room of Requirement's existence, but even if others were to come, they would not know what to look for. Amongst the forgotten trinkets and baubles, the diadem appeared as nothing more than a simple piece of costume jewellery. No one would suspect the true worth of what it was, of what it _held_.

Rowena Ravenclaw's lost diadem.

Voldemort laughed softly and turned. His followers were waiting for him at the Hog's Head, no doubt eager to hear if he had secured his desired role as Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. He would not bring them good news, but at least his journey had not been completely for nothing. He had secured another Horcrux, after all, his goal to beat death finally another step closer.

_Dumbledore, did you really think I came to Hogwarts purely to source a previously desired vocation?_

The old fool was growing slow with his progressing years, and all the while Lord Voldemort's power grew. Soon it would be enough to snuff Albus Dumbledore out for good, and that was an image he liked very much.

Once again out on the seventh floor corridor, Voldemort turned to make his way towards the moving staircase, his image hidden from wandering eyes with the lightest flick of his wand. He had lingered for too long in the castle, it would not do to be seen now. He hadn't taken five steps before a bell-like tone caught his attention.

“Whose there?”

He turned. Not ten foot behind him stood a young girl, perhaps in her sixth or seventh year. Her gaze flickered accusingly over the supposedly empty corridor, her wand casting a soft candle-like glow in the dark. Raven tresses had fallen chaotically over her features, and she swiped them away, as though the sheer impractically of them offended her.

Lord Voldemort fingered his wand, toying with the idea of stunning her for simplicities sake. She raised her own a little higher. Her eyes ghosting over the spot where he was stood a little knowingly for his liking.

She glared. “Theodore is that you? I swear, if you're following me again...”

“Talking to yourself is a sign of madness, Miss Dumbledore.”

The girl rolled her dark eyes, turning her attention to the large painting that had suddenly spoken.

“Yes, and you'd know all about _madness_ , wouldn't you Barnabus? How is the ballet going? The Trolls managed even _first_ position yet?”

The portrait answered, but Lord Voldemort no longer listened. His mind whirred ahead instead with the possibilities that were in front of him. Yes, he recognised her now, the adopted daughter of Albus Dumbledore, the prophet's photos coming back to him through a distant memory. He cast his gaze across the corridor, realising with relish that they were completely alone. He smiled. Would such an opportunity to get at the crooked nose fool ever present itself again? His wand hand twitched eagerly, his magic humming subtly with excitement. Perhaps if he were to...

“ _Stupefy!_ ”

Voldemort deflected her spell easily before it had time to hit, though he could not deny he was impressed she'd realised his presence at all. She seemed taken aback, obviously she hadn't expected to be thwarted, no doubt expecting a student of a far more inferior skill. Lord Voldemort would soon change that...

“Okay, well, you're obviously _not_ Theodore.” She said to thin air, an irritated frown creasing her pretty features. “Theodore couldn't block a spider in a cup if his life depended on it. So who _are_ you? You're not supposed to be wandering the corridors this time of night, you know.”

Voldemort considered her for a moment, and finally he revealed himself. He was pleased to see the flash of fear that crossed her ebony wells, or perhaps it was shock? It didn't matter, she would fear him soon enough.

The whole world would.

“I would have thought those rules applied to yourself also. Or does being the daughter of the Headmaster give you special privileges, Ariana?”

The young girl narrowed her eyes, but she did not answer straight away, nor did she lower her wand arm.

_Clever girl_. _Pointless, but clever._

“Funny. I know who you are too.” She said, her voice firm and unwavering. Her gaze flickered over him, curious. “I also know that you left Father's office over an hour ago, so why is it that you linger?”

Voldemort forced a smile, the inviting mask of Tom Riddle, drawn once again to the surface.

“This is my old school. It would have been remiss of me, to miss the chance of walking her halls once again.”

“In secret, in the dark?” She countered, raising a doubtful eyebrow.

He considered her. “Do you not find want for solitude?”

Something flickered across her face then, a shadow, but she quickly shook it off, clearly not wanting him to see. But it was too late, Lord Voldemort _had_ seen, and Lord Voldemort found himself wondering, what could possibly cause the daughter of Albus Dumbledore, to flinch away from the mere suggestion of solitude?

Despite this, she tilted her head thoughtfully. “I find people tend to answer a question with a question, when they are trying to hide something. Do you not agree, Mr Riddle?”

He fought the rage that surged at the mention of his Muggle name, forced his lightly marred features into something close to inviting.

“I see your Father has spoken to you of me.” He remarked flatly.

At this she actually smiled, seemingly amused. “Yes.” She confessed. “Something like that. I regret to say that he doesn't appear to like you very much.”

Lord Voldemort sneered. “That has always been more than obvious.”

“And yet you hoped he would offer you a job?” She noted lightly, sounding somehow wise beyond her years. “I think it is good that he did not. You do not strike me as much of a teacher.”

“No?” He found himself questioning. “How do I strike you?”

She looked at him as if truly seeing him for the first time. A strange vagueness crossed her features, and it was as though she was somewhere else, a dream. When her gaze did once again focus, and her expression relit, she held herself very different, as though she was suddenly weighed down by all the burdens of the world.

“A hunger.” She said simply, her wand arm falling impotently to her side. She smiled, regarding him suddenly with a quiet ease. “But what would I know about such things?”

She considered him and his wand for a moment, before clearly deciding that he was of no threat. She moved to make her way passed him, pausing briefly to give her goodbyes.

“I will not tell father of this – there are enough distractions to be dealing with. Goodbye Mr Riddle, or _my_ _Lord_ , whichever title you consider to be more appropriate.”

Lord Voldemort watched her disappear at the end of the corridor, questions forming relentlessly in his mind, as a final dark ringlet flitted behind a column. She had been telling the truth, when she'd said she would not tell Dumbledore about their meeting – but why? Perhaps it thrilled the girl to hide things from the old fool? Or she saw it as a chance for some petty spite, a thing that would wound him in some way? Regardless, he saw it as something he could use, a loose thread in a tapestry that he was more than happy to pull. How pleasing it would be to snatch the girl from right under the Muggle-loving fool's nose? To have her as a precious sheep within his own flock?

The cracks in her relationship with Dumbledore were there, he had sensed glimpses of them in her mind. She was also curious of _him,_ of the man her father distrusted so vehemently, despite only knowing him as a child...

Lord Voldemort smiled. Yes. It had most definitely not been a wasted journey.

**R &R!**

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**Take care x**


	3. The Tea

**The Thief's Son**

_The Tea_

**Devon, 1969**

“How are you settling in?”

Ariana reluctantly shifted her gaze from the files she was organising, and smiled. “Do you really care, Pops, or are you just here to make sure I'm keeping out of trouble?”

“Nonsense!” Dumbledore chuckled, conjuring a tea set with a light flourish of his wand. “But as you appeared too busy to reply to either of my letters, I thought I would simply come down and save you the trouble.” He said happily, pouring the pair of them a cup of tea each. He gazed at her over half-mooned spectacles. “Still three sugars?”

Sighing, Ariana shook her head. “No, thank you. I'm trying to cut it out.”

She moved to sit beside him at the kitchen table. The cottage she was renting was snug, but it was quaint in it's own way. She liked how her bedroom window looked out onto the beach, and how the sun cascaded eagerly through her patio doors each morning.

Ariana took a tentative sip of tea. “I'm sorry, I should have replied sooner. But I really _have_ been busy. What with unpacking, and the files Mr Scamander has me researching. He wants me up to date on his work by the end of the week, and there's _so_ _much_ to go through, Pops.” She sighed, giving the files and books a grudging nudge.

Dumbledore smiled. “Newt has every confidence in you. He wouldn't have offered you the position as his assistant, if he didn't think you were capable.”

“It's not that. I know I'm more than capable, I just – ” She stopped, levelling her gaze at him knowingly. “You said Newt ' _has_ ' every confidence... so you _have_ been checking up on me.” She finished accusingly, trying and failing to hide her annoyance. She sighed. “Pops, what is it going to take for you to trust me? I told you I'd put some distance between myself and Bellatrix, and I have. What more do I have to do?”

Dumbledore considered her silently for moment, the sparkle in his sapphire gaze dulled. Ariana looked away guiltily. Truth be told he had every reason alive _not_ to trust her. She had lied to him in the past, she was lying to him now _,_ but if he would only understand her friendship with Bellatrix, and then she wouldn't have to.

Yes, Bella was perhaps a little much, and her morals and values were at times questionable, but it wasn't like she was a _murderer_. Yes, she had gone too far a couple of months back with those Muggles, but really, hadn't they deserved it? They would have robbed Ariana and Bella blind – perhaps worse – if the girls hadn't of had magic on their side. Yes, she shouldn't have used to Cruciatus Curse, but she'd stopped when Ari had pleaded with her.

What's done was done. Her Father didn't need to keep dragging it up. Ari was just grateful he hadn't involved the Ministry.

“So when are you seeing Miss Black again?” He asked lightly, as if they were discussing the weather.

Ariana hated the way he could see through her, it made growing up as a somewhat wayward teenager mildly difficult.

“She's invited me to a party at the Malfoys next weekend.” She took a large gulp of tea. “As if you didn't already know.”

Dumbledore chuckled. “A little bird may have mentioned something, yes.”

Ariana rolled her eyes. “That little bird didn't happen to be Arthur _Weasley_ , did it?” She slammed her empty cup down a little harder than intended. “I thought him and Molly were still on their honeymoon? Surely they have better things to talk about?”

She got up from the table, her chair scraping loudly across the floor. At one time Molly and Arthur had been two of her closest friends. Now she felt as though there was this unapproachable cavern between them. She'd spoken with Bellatrix about it once, just once, because she hadn't been overly supportive of the subject. In her eyes the Weasleys were 'Bloodtraitors', or whatever silly political label she'd come up with at the time. Ariana had zero patience for any of it.

“Molly and Arthur are just worried about you.” Dumbledore said softly, breaking her destructive thought process. “They said it had been months since they last saw you? You didn't even attend their wedding.”

More guilt.

“I was _busy_. You know I was finishing my papers for the final Magizoology exam.” She said quickly, returning to her files.

That wasn't the truth of it, of course. In actual fact she'd been asked to attend a small gathering at Bella's that day, and she could hardly have refused, not when she'd been told that _he_ was going to be there.. _._

“And will _he_ be at the Malfoy's next weekend?”

Ariana spun on her heels, her cheeks burning. She rounded on her Father. “Don't do that! I mean it, Pops, stay out of my head. I can make you now, you know. I've been learning Occlumency.”

“And who has been teaching you that?” He wondered quietly, though everything about him told Ariana he already knew.

She shifted uncomfortably.

“Look, lets not fight, you've come all this way.” She muttered quickly, keen to avoid another lecture about a certain _Lord_. She reached for a nearby cabinet. “I think I still have some Sherbet Lemons from the Muggle market last week...”

“He's dangerous, Ari.”

Ariana sighed, her hand pausing on the jar. “So you keep telling me.” She murmured, hesitating before grabbing the sweets from the shelf. “I have yet to see evidence of this.”

“But you know his ideals. What he wants to do to the wizarding world.”

“Many men want to change the world, Pops.” She stated quietly, passing him the jar. “Politics is politics. I don't have to agree with someone's values to enjoy their company.”

“And it is that very fact that worries me, Ariana. It worries me a lot.”

She said nothing.

Sighing, Dumbledore lightly plucked a sweet from the container, popping it eagerly into his mouth. He looked tired.

“Promise me one thing?”

She hesitated. “Yes?”

“That you will remember that no matter what happens, you can always come to me. I will _never_ turn you away, Ari, never. Do you promise you will remember that?”

She considered him, though she couldn't pretend his conviction didn't frighten her a little.

“I promise, Pops.”

He smiled, getting up carefully from the table. He eyed the sherbet lemon jar. “I suppose you'll be counting these as sugar too? Would it be helpful if I...?”

Ariana rolled her eyes, thoughts of worry and debate dismissed from the conversation as quickly as they'd come. “Just take them, Pops.

Humming softly, Dumbledore happily pocketed the jar, moving to plant a fatherly kiss affectionately against her temple.

“Newt tells me you're hoping to specialise in Dragons?” He noted conversationally, swiping a stray curl lightly behind her ear. “You always did enjoy their tales the most.”

Ariana nodded. “Obviously there is a lot of stuff to get through here first, but Mr Scamander assures me that eventually there will be field work. He said he is more than happy to accommodate my wish to study rare Dragon breeds, so it is _very_ exciting, Pops.” She grinned, feeling her face light up at the mere thought. She looked at him thoughtfully. “Do you think we might go to Egypt?”

“There is every possibility.” Dumbledore nodded, clearly enjoying his daughter's child-like excitement. He thought about it further. “Perhaps even China?”

Ariana smiled, enjoying his presence as her Father for a change, rather than the great Albus Dumbledore she had always been forced to share. Times like this between them were rare, she had learned to make the most of them growing up. This moment was no different.

She flung her arms around him. “I do love you, you know.” She said quietly, as if there was ever any kind of doubt. “I'm sorry that I worry you so much.”

She heard him sigh, but when his arms came down around her, she knew she was forgiven.

“You're my little girl. It's my job to worry.”

She scoffed against his robes. “I'll be _twenty_ in a few months.”

“And you think that matters?”

She closed her eyes. This time she was happy that it didn't.

**R &R!**

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	4. Confessions at the Party

**~ The Thief's Song ~**

_Confessions at the Party_

**Malfoy Manor, 1969**

Ariana fixed her hair for what must have been the hundredth time that evening. One single rebellious curl was refusing to stay put with the rest, and she'd spent the last hour and a half attempting to tame it, before reluctantly surrendering it as a lost cause.

Turning, she cast her gaze across the room's occupants, most of which looked flawless in their evening finery. She sighed, privately envious. Ariana had never attempted 'flawless' herself, such an ethereal state was left to the likes of Bellatrix and her kin. Still, she had at least _tried_ , her lacy white dress robes glittering subtly under the Malfoy's giant chandelier.

Ariana downed the remainder of her wine. _Where the hell was Bella?_ Her dark eyes scanned the room, resenting her friend for leaving her alone amongst people who mostly disapproved of her being there. The name Dumbledore was not a welcome one in these circles, as their many disgusted glances did not hesitate to show her, and Ariana was beginning to grow tired of being looked at like she was some unwanted substance on the bottom of a shoe.

_Oh to hell with this, I'm going home. I've got a stack of papers to get through anyway._

Ariana slammed her goblet down on a side table, but before she could make her stealthy retreat, a claw-like hand snapped out and grabbed her wrist.

“Ariana! Where are you _going_? They haven't even started the entertainment yet!”

Bellatrix, flamboyant and dramatic as always, pulled her friend into a light embrace, before pushing a brand new beverage into her hand.

“Bella, where the hell have you been? I've been stood there on my own for _ages_ looking like an absolute idiot.” Ariana hissed, taking eager gulp of wine.

Bella quickly brushed her off. “Oh don't be a sourpuss. You know I have to mingle at these things – it's expected. It wouldn't have hurt _you_ to have done the same.”

Ariana considered her with an eye roll. “Oh yes, I'm sure they'd all jump at the chance to speak to me. Though I doubt if I'd hear them, not when they're looking down from such a great height.”

“Oh, don't be so dramatic!” Bellatrix cackled, swinging lightly on Ariana's arm. “Besides, I know _one_ person here who will definitely want to speak to you.”

Ariana narrowed her eyes. “Who?”

“My Uncle Alphard. You made quite an impression on him when you last met.”

Ariana sighed. Yes, Alphard Black, whose illegally sourced Nifflers had almost destroyed an entire Muggle street. Luckily she had been there to help round them up, but had the for-mentioned been allowed to occur, it would have no doubt caused quite a stir for him down at the Ministry.

He definitely owed her.

“I'm not sure if _impression_ is quite the right word, Bella.” Ariana noted regardless, though not quite able to resist searching for him in the crowd. She found Alphard already looking in their direction and smiled grudgingly. “I believe I gave him quite the lecture.”

Bellatrix shrugged. “Perhaps Uncle is a masochist? Come.”

Bella took Ariana's hand in her own, and dragged her mercilessly across the room, reaching Alphard with her characteristically wide smile, as she planted a simple chaste kiss upon his cheek.

“Hello Uncle, I've brought someone to see you.”

“So I see. Hello again, Miss Dumbledore.” He greeted, his boyish looks making him appear a little younger than his twenty-eight years.

“Mr Black.” Ariana replied lightly, ignoring the way his eyes travelled her as she took yet another welcome sip of wine.

Alphard Black was almost ten years her senior. Despite this, Ariana couldn't deny he was handsome, even if he was a little full of himself.

“I'll leave you two to talk.” Bellatrix interjected suggestively, patting Ariana's shoulder before promptly disappearing into the crowd.

Ariana regarded Alphard thoughtfully over the brim of her goblet. “Are you enjoying the Soireé, Mr Black?” She asked softly. “Not plotting any new business ventures I hope.”

He laughed, no doubt recalling the Niffler incident. “No. No more business for me. I have accepted that I am doomed to live the life of an incredibly wealthy socialite. Dull as it may be.”

Ariana rolled her eyes. “My heart bleeds for you.”

He laughed again. “And you? Are you enjoying the party? I'm not going to lie, I noticed you earlier, and was about a minute away from rescuing you, had my Niece not swept in when she did. You looked thoroughly done with it all.”

Ariana considered him. “Parties aren't really my thing, Mr Black.”

“Please, call me Alphard.”

“Alphard.” She obliged playfully, taking a distracting gulp of wine. “I suppose it would be weird for you to keep calling me, _Miss Dumbledore_ , now.” She noted absently, watching him for a reaction. “I guess Ariana will have to do. For the sake of balance, if nothing else.”

“If nothing else.” He echoed, taking an eager sip from his own glass. His gaze flickered briefly across the room. “So Ariana, if you hate parties so much, I have to ask, what brings you here at this late hour? Not solely my wholesome company, surely?”

Again she rolled her eyes. “Don't flatter yourself, Alphard.”

In truth there were two reasons she'd agreed to attend Abraxas Malfoy's little get together, other than Bellatrix's excessive nagging, of course. One was Narcissa mentioning the Malfoy's extensive library – Ariana hoped there might be some rare writings she could include in her research with Mr Scamander. The other, which she would never to anyone admit out loud, was that Bella had let slip _He_ was going to be there, and despite her Father's continuously aired disapproval, Ariana could not find it in herself to stay away.

“I heard that the Malfoys own quite an impressive library.” She admitted, knowing that a half truth was better than nothing. “I'm intrigued to see what it contains.”

Alphard raised a knowing eyebrow. “A lot of things the Ministry wouldn't approve of, let me tell you.” He glanced furtively around. “Would you like to see?”

She grinned in earnest. “Yes!”

Alphard and Ariana made their way unseen along the corridor to Malfoy's library. They sniggered childishly at some of the portraits they passed, earning understandably rude retorts from the frame's rather lofty occupants. They reached a small door embellished with gold, and Alphard muttered a quick charm to open it, allowing Ariana to take the lead through.

“Why does Abraxas keep it locked?” She questioned softly, her gaze travelling the many book laden shelves .

She had to admit, it was impressive.

Alphard shrugged. “I would have thought that some of these books were less than savoury – so watch yourself.” He added warningly, shutting the door with a gentle click behind him. “Who knows what you'll unleash upon us.”

Ariana rolled her eyes. “I'm only going to have a peek. Besides, what harm ever came from reading a book?” She giggled, turning to find him looking passed her with an oddly placed expression. She frowned. “What's wrong with you?”

“Perhaps, Ariana, Mr Black is attempting to come up with a suitable excuse for disturbing my solitude?”

Ariana spun 'round, her features no doubt comical, as she tried in vain to hide her surprise from Lord Voldemort's knowing gaze. How had she not noticed him when they'd entered? Ominous as ever, he sat beside the fire, clearly in a state of quiet contemplation before her and Alphard had interrupted.

She swallowed hard. “We didn't mean to disturb you... _my Lord._ ” She added in after thought. She hated saying it – as he knew all too well – the words stuck like toffee in her throat. “We weren't aware the room was occupied.”

“Clearly.” He said, though she thought she detected a smile – if indeed you could call it that. He tilted his head towards her. “Though, I'm not sure Abraxas would approve of you breaking and entering into his rooms. Was that your doing, Black?”

“Yes, my Lord, I promised to show Ariana the library. My sincerest apologies for disturbing you.” He rambled quickly, his gaze flickering fearfully between the Dark Lord and the floor.

When Voldemort said nothing, Alphard grew only more uncomfortable under his cold stare, worrying Ariana. She was about to make his excuses in an attempt to calm him down, but Voldemort quietly cut across her.

“Leave us.” He said to him. “I wish to speak with Ariana alone.”

She felt her stomach plummet sickeningly, but she ignored it, catching Alphard's eye for the briefest of seconds, before he swiftly made his way passed her. The door shut with an audible click behind them, the lock groaning promptly into place.

She returned her gaze to Voldemort. “I do believe Alphard may have a heart attack before the night's out.” She said lightly, attempting to distract herself from the foreboding feeling in her belly - his moods never were the easiest to judge.

Voldemort considered her. “What a sorry loss that would be for you.”

Her dark lashes stroked her cheeks.

“I'm not sure I know what you mean.” She said quietly, tip-toeing tentatively closer. She hesitated beside the hearth.

Voldemort laughed softly. “Do not play the innocent, Ariana, we both saw how he looked at you at the party. Now _sit_.” He ordered, indicating the empty seat in front of him.

Ariana obliged, sinking warily into the plush velvet armchair. “So you _were_ at the party. I didn't see you?”

“As was my intention.” He said quietly, summoning a goblet of wine and bringing it swiftly to his lips. “I wanted to observe my supposed supporters behaviours without the knowledge of my presence.”

She nodded slowly. “And?”

“ _And_ there is still much work to be done.” He replied ominously, staring absently into the fire. “I doubt those at the Ministry will be swayed by mere words and votes alone.”

Ariana looked at him. “What else is there?”

His snake-like pupils shifted to her own chocolate wells, and she immediately regretted asking.

Voldemort tilted his head. “Would you really like to know, I wonder? Or do you sleep easier, Ariana, pretending I am nothing more than a hard faced politician in search of change? What would Dumbledore say, I wonder, were he to find out the true extent of his Daughter's involvement in my cause?” He spoke provokingly, a cruel smile twisting his pale features. “I doubt he would be too quick to forgive. Or to partake in any more late night tea visits, hm?”

Ariana's expression steeled, so he had been spying on her. “I can hardly stop him visiting. He is my Father, after all.”

“And yet you do not reply to his letters. Hardly the actions of a dutiful Daughter.” He mocked, lightly swirling his goblet of wine. “Do you fear he will see through the lies? If he hasn't already, of course.”

“If you know the answers, then why do you ask at all?” She snapped, forgetting herself in a moment of guilt induced ire.

Voldemort's eyes flashed dangerously, and she quickly humbled herself, though instinct urged her to grab her wand. Had it been anyone else, she would have, but she knew better than to antagonise him further.

She'd learnt the hard way.

Ariana closed her eyes. It hadn't always been that way. What had started as a mere plot to grab her Father's attention, had grown into something like teenage infatuation, before becoming something more, something darker, and more shameful. By the time she began to pay attention to the rumours circling about Voldemort, it was too late. Ariana would turn a blind eye to it all, insisting to herself that it was nothing more than his enemies wanting to sully his name, envious of his power.

Lately she was beginning to wonder.

The last year he had asked more and more of her, and she had started to question the impact of her actions. To a select few it was known she had a slight gift as a Seer, nothing overly note worthy, but it was substantial enough for Voldemort to find her useful. He would ask her opinion, for example 'if a member of his cause was completely trustworthy', and she would answer him based upon a feeling she had.

She was always right, of course, but when these people went missing, she told herself it was because they were shady characters, or trouble seekers, or reprobates.

Anything to help her sleep at night.

Eyes still shut, Ariana felt a cold fingertip carefully stroke the full length of her collarbone, and sighed.

The Devil had her soul. It would take a miracle for him to give it back.

**R &R!!**

**Thank you for everyone who is reading, and following and favouring. It's much appreciated. Tell me what do you think of this chapter? Do you think Ariana's an idiot? Let me know.**

**And as always – take care.**


	5. The Zoo Keeper's Surprise

**~ The Thief's Song ~**

_The Zookeeper's Surprise_

**Scamander Residence, Devon, 1969**

Newt Scamander was a slight man. Yet despite his smaller frame, he was strong and remarkably spry. Ariana watched him as he zipped around his mini zoo, ensuring all his creatures were happy and fed. It was a warming sight to behold, she'd never known someone to love so much so easily, and the affection was mutual.

“They're really fond of you.” She remarked softly, smiling at her would-be-boss. “How is it they trust you so easily?”

She watched as a nearby Hippogriff nibbled affectionately at his ear, and Scamander shrugged. “They have no reason not to, I guess. I've always been kind to them.”

Ariana nodded, tilting her head thoughtfully as he threw a mixture of glittering toys into the Pixie den. They seemed to approve, muttering joyfully as they soared hazardously around their temporary home. The tiny sparkling objects began to fly, and it was clear they were greatly appreciated.

Ariana giggled. “They seem to be doing a lot better?”

Newt nodded. “Yes. It shouldn't be long until I can release them back.”

The Pixies had been brought in sick after Newt had found the bubbling brook surrounding their home to be polluted. The Muggles in the nearby village had not properly disposed of their waste, making the environment toxic to the Pixies, and after cleaning up what he could, Newt brought the strange little creatures back with him to recover.

“That'll be good.” Ariana said, leaning casually against a nearby desk. “Honestly, you'd think the Muggles would know how to look after their own homes by now. It's disgusting how they behave.” She added with open venom.

Newt frowned.

“The magical world is just as bad.” He interjected carefully, checking the Pixie's cage was properly secured. “Why do you think I'm writing this book about environmental resourcing? The number of plants and creatures that have become rare or extinct, because of a refusal to acknowledge responsible resourcing.”

His brow furrowed, and to cement his point, he purposely drew his wand from his sleeve.

“Take these for example. Mine is made from mostly organic materials, but the main wand cores used by Olivander are Unicorn hair, Phoenix feather, and Dragon heart-string – _those_ sorts of materials aren't happened on by chance, you know. And a lot of the time the creature is hurt in the throws of obtaining them – if not _killed_.”

Ariana found herself nodding feverishly, her defence already secured on her tongue.

“Yes, but _why_ doesn't the Ministry intervene? Because as far as they're concerned, the less creatures there are, the easier it is to keep our world hidden from the Muggles, and that's really all they care about. Why should _our_ wildlife have to suffer for _Them_ , Newt? It's not fair.” She finished pointedly, folding her arms with so much flourish, she realised how genuinely angry she was.

Muggles and the Ministry had a lot to answer for.

Newt regarded her strangely, and smiling awkwardly, he turned away, finding a sudden interest in a small stack of nearby papers.

“You sound like Grindlewald.” He said offhandedly.

Ariana blinked, yet somehow the comment didn't strike her with complete surprise. “What do you mean?”

“At the beginning, when he was really starting to gain followers, he portrayed himself as some kind of saviour to the magical world, as though he was liberating us from a life under the Muggle heel.”

Ariana dropped her gaze. “'The Greater Good'.”

“Exactly.” He laughed without humour.

The shame hit her then. Perhaps she had been spending too much time with Voldemort and the others, their prejudice was beginning to rub off on her.

She sighed.

It wasn't that she _hated_ Muggles - she didn't - and on an individual basis she'd found some to be even quite likeable. But her love of creatures, specifically those that had been culled to near extinction to protect Muggle-kind, had made her incredibly resentful of them. A small flame that had been fanned all too eagerly by Bellatrix and her ilk.

“I'm sorry.” Ariana said, and she meant it too. “It just really winds me up. The Ministry should think of other ways to safeguard the Muggle world, rather than just killing numbers for simplicities sake. It's so lazy, not to mention cruel.”

“I agree. And hopefully with awareness, things will change.” Newt smiled again, this time genuinely. “Anyway, enough of that; I have a surprise for you, and I think you're really going to like it.”

He beckoned her with a single hand, and she followed him eagerly through the many levels of the Scamander's garden shed. The extension charm Newt had used was very sophisticated, Ariana remembered how impressed she'd been when she'd walked in on her very first day. Not only was the shed a thousand times larger on the inside, but it was also multi-levelled, with varying environments to be inclusive of all the different habitats Newt needed for his creatures.

“Down here.” Newt crouched down by a sheltered cave-like alcove, and Ariana was struck by how hot it suddenly was.

“Are you opening a steam room?” She joked, following his lead and kneeling down beside the small fissure. She heard a strangled grumble from inside and frowned. “Newt.... what's in there?”

He grinned, and eagerly lit up his wand. “Look for yourself.”

Carefully, but with no hesitation, Newt Scamander stuck his wand into the rocky alcove, and Ariana was forced to stifle an excited gasp when she say what was in it. Inside, in a cradle-like bundle of magically heated rocks, and discarded bones, was a small, happily sleeping, Dragon.

“Merlin's beard...” Ariana breathed, an awe inspired smile brightening her pretty features. “Is that a _Welsh-Green_?”

Newt nodded. “I found him down on the beach injured. His mother either couldn't or _wouldn't_ return for him. It's rare, but sometimes Dragon's do reject their young.”

“But he's got to be what...” Ariana tilted her head thoughtfully. “Six months?”

He shrugged. “I mean it could be case of couldn't, but Dragons are very resilient, I'm not aware of anything other than a planned attack that could really take one down. I suppose he may have been someone's pet, and was discarded once the novelty of being chargrilled everyday wore off.”

She nodded, her gaze focused entirely on the sleeping reptile. “Perhaps...” Dreamily she reached out, but soon hesitated, and glanced at Newt. “I know I shouldn't, but can I?”

She held up her hand to indicate her sudden want to touch the creature, and Newt nodded.

“He's heavily sedated, this will probably be one of those things in life you'll not get to do twice.”

Ariana beamed, and carefully touched her palm to the sleeping Dragon's belly. His skin was hard, not yet the firm stone-like texture it would become with full maturity. His stomach rose beneath her fingers with each breath, and when his striking green eyes fluttered briefly open, she felt no fear, only a complete certainty that he was the most wonderful thing she had ever seen.

“He's beautiful.” She whispered, turning look at Newt. “How long will he be with us?”

“A week. Maybe a little more. Dragons heal very quickly, but it will take a few days to organise the transfer to the sanctuary in Egypt.”

Ariana's eyes lit up again. “Egypt!? Will we be travelling there?”

To her disappointment, Newt shook his head. “Not this time. Maybe in the spring. There's still too much work to be done on our own soil, before we can go absconding around the world.”

Ariana had to admit, his looked as disappointed as she was. No doubt the old ghosts of an itchy footed traveller still resonated loudly within him.

She smiled, and shrugged.

“I guess Egypt's not going anywhere. It'll be just as exciting in March as it would be now.” She said logically, trying to make them both feel better. She realised her hand was still on the Dragon's stomach and drew back reluctantly. “I think we should call him Em - short for Emerald. What do you think?”

It wasn't the most original, but Ariana thought it had a nice ring to it. Newt seemed to agree.

“Yes.” He nodded. “Yes, I think that would suit him just fine.”

Newt moved his wand fluidly over the opening of the alcove, and above them in the stone appeared in gold lettering the word _'Em'._

Ariana smiled approvingly. “Perfect.”

“Wonderful.” Newt nodded in earnest, awkwardly checking the time on a rather battered looking pocket watch. “Now, if I'm not mistaken, dinner should be just about ready, and Tina is insisting that you join us.”

Ariana opened her mouth to politely refuse, certain that Bellatrix would no doubt be dropping by home, but Newt immediately interjected.

“You can try arguing with her if you want. But I warn you, Ariana, she used to be an Auror, and it's a skill she has not forgotten.”

Ariana sighed. How could she refuse?


	6. The Snake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning* Violent Scenes

**~ The Thief's Song ~**

_The Snake_

**Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, 1969**

The room crackled with magical energy as Ariana and Bellatrix began their duel.

From a nearby corner, the Dark Lord observed them silently, his hawk-like gaze drinking in every wand movement, and small incantation muttered. The young women were evenly matched, he had seen to that himself, but where Ariana was swift, Bellatrix was cruel, and where Bellatrix was inventive, Ariana was omniscient. It made for an entertaining show, but eventually there had to be a winner, and as always it was painfully obvious who that was going to be.

After shooting a disorienting burst of light, Ariana twirled her wrist into a series of intricate loops, and suddenly the tapestry of vines that ran through the carpeted pattern beneath their feet, shot free of their material prison. Bellatrix screamed out on frustration, but she was not quick enough to stop attack. The vines soon had her bound, and while Bellatrix growled in anger, Ariana giggled like a school girl who had played a rather wonderful trick.

“That's what you get for being cocky.” She laughed, watching her so-called-friend struggle with barely hidden amusement. “I warned you before it'll be your undoing.”

“Shut up!” Bellatrix spat, her eyes darting shamefully towards Voldemort's, as she tore viciously against the vines. “Release me!” She demanded hotly, her cheeks reddening more and more with each second that passed. “ _Now_ , Ariana!”

Still laughing, Ariana rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay, keep your hair on.”

“No.”

Ariana froze, her wand hanging impotently mid-air. The Dark Lord glided smoothly to her side, his long fingers gently encircling her wrist as he guided her hand back down to her waist.

He enjoyed how readily she obeyed him; Dumbledore's little lost lamb.

“You fought well.” He praised softly, brushing white knuckles pointedly across her cheek. “But Bella has a lesson she must learn.” Voldemort turned his cool gaze to the bound, red-blooded witch, the mountains of her mind screaming at him for forgiveness. Oh, how she hated to appear weak, especially in front of him. She would have to prove herself better. “You will find your own way out of Ariana's vines, Bella.”

Her full lips trembled. “But...my Lord...I – ”

“Or I will find someone who can.” He cut across softly, a cruel smile twisting his snake-like features. “You are no good to me if you can be so easily beaten.”

Bellatrix's doe-like eyes swam with hurt, and at his side he felt Ariana shift guiltily, the beginnings of a defence bubbling eagerly to her lips.

“It's my fault. That wasn't one of the spells we were supposed to be practising. I – ”

Voldemort held up a hand to silence her, and she reluctantly fell silent, a flash of fear catching her off guard. Voldemort resisted the urge to leer. Oh how he loved it when they feared him.

“ _Now_ , Bella.” He ordered, feeling his eyes flash towards her in warning.

Stifling a sob, she continued to pull pathetically at the vines, any attempt at magic thwarted by another carpeted attack. Voldemort's eyes narrowed darkly at her blundering. She was failing to locate the spell's source, too preoccupied with the attack on her person, she couldn't see to pull it out literally at the root.

He sighed, perhaps Bella needed reminding that he was not a man who accepted failure. Besides, pain was known to heighten the senses, was it not?

Raising his spider-like hand in front of him, he clenched it pointedly into a fist. As he did so, the vines that bound Bella tightened, and she cried out in agony, blood soaking eagerly into the sleeves of her dress, the vines cutting deep into her young flesh.

Beside him Ariana gasped in horror, her fingers splaying frightfully across her mouth, as Bellatrix continued to sob.

“The pain will continue, Bella, unless you decide to free yourself from it.” He warned flatly, watching with mild fascination as the blood began to pool greedily at her feet. “I would suggest you do so sooner rather than later. I doubt those vines will stop until there is nothing left to cut.”

The fear was plain on Bellatrix's face, and she immediately focused her attention on halting the vines' insidious attack. Her efforts were bold at best, and with each failed attempt, the assault only grew more vicious, until finally, it seemed Ariana could take no more.

“The _floor_ , Bella! Aim at the floor!”

There was hesitation in the pure-blooded witch's eyes, but in the end survival won out over pride, and following Ariana's advice, she aimed her wand down. The attack stopped instantly, of course, and finally free from her bindings, Bellatrix collapsed to the floor, her body weakened by blood loss.

“Bella!”

Ariana made to run forward, but before she could, Voldemort snapped his wand out like a whip, bringing the girl to her knees with a small stifled cry. He watched as she tried to rise again, satisfied when she could not.

Voldemort tilted his head.

“I told you not to interfere.” He said quietly, watching her for a reaction. “How do you expect to learn, if you will not listen?”

She didn't answer. Ariana knew there was no right answer. If she did speak, she knew she simply ran the risk of inciting more of his wrath.

Clever girl.

Voldemort watched as her gaze darted worriedly back and forth to an unconscious Bella, and laughed softly.

“Such the loyal Gryffindor. Tell me, do you think _she_ would show the same loyalty towards you, were the tables turned?”

Ariana looked once more at her fallen friend, this time her gaze lingering. When she did look up at Voldemort again, something in her dark eyes had shifted.

“Probably not.” She replied reluctantly, dropping her gaze sadly to the floor.

Voldemort saw the ghost of a memory cross her mind, a memory involving the torture of a Muggle at Bella's hand. Ariana had seen the pleasure it had brought Bellatrix to hurt others, she was undecided whether their friendship counted enough to counteract that want. Of course, Voldemort knew better. Bellatrix had only sought Ariana out in the first place on his orders, and despite over two years of manipulated familiarity, her true feelings towards the girl were namely a mixture of sheer dislike, and unbridled jealousy.

Were it not for Voldemort, he was in no doubt that Bella would enjoy inflicting on Ariana that same torture she had the Muggle, tenfold.

The thought of it sent a bolt of pleasure running through him, and he gathered his thoughts back to the present.

“Then do not waste your concern on her.” He said coldly, a disgusted shadow crossing his features as he observed Bellatrix's weakened form. “She is not worthy. I need the best of wizarding kind if I hope to take control the magical world. If she fails me now, what good will she be in the war to come?”

Ariana swallowed nervously, her pretty face suddenly very young. “ _War_? You can't just force the whole of the magical world to agree with you. If you go to war, people are going to get hurt.”

Voldemort's gaze steeled, there was no denying the contempt that sprang up within him. He bent down beside Ariana, and firmly grasped her chin. It was important that she understood something.

“They bring what is coming on themselves, Ariana. They have only to surrender to me, and the loss of magical blood will be avoided.”

“But...”

His grip on her tightened, and she gave a satisfying gasp. “You would do well to remember the part you have played in my journey to power, Ariana. Had you not pointed out those unhelpful individuals before they became a problem, we would be months behind where we are today. Dumbledore would be proud.” He add pointedly, knowing the mention of the crooked-nose fool would bring her back into subservience.

Merlin forbid he know of her indiscretions. Ariana's childish rebellion had caused the girl to bite off a lot more than she could chew.

She respected Voldemort, she wanted to learn from him, and in the beginning he had been careful to play the charismatic academic, secure under the seductive mask of Tom Marvolo Riddle. He had slowly allowed that face to slide, however, once he knew for certain he'd lured her from her flock. By the time she understood what she had gotten herself into, it was too late.

Now he had her trapped. Caged behind the bars of fear, shame, and misplaced loyalty. Soon he would mark her as his, and when he did, he would ensure her right of passage was enough to drive Albus Dumbledore to the darkest, most maddening corners of his mind.


End file.
